


The Angel and Me

by winchesterwinchesterandco (aroundthecrocandback)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, canonical timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:58:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6440293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroundthecrocandback/pseuds/winchesterwinchesterandco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean could try to forget, forget the way they talked, the way they held each others hands, the way Cas' lips felt on his mouth. But maybe he doesn't want to just yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trenchcoats Don't Burn Too Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Little idea I had, it takes itself very seriously at the start but I swear it gets more lighthearted (and then even later a little heartbreaking). It's set within the show's timeline and events but with some of my own non-canonical stuff I guess..  
> Please leave any criticism or suggestions, cause I'm still pretty new at this :)

A small procession wandered down the forest path; two brothers, one well over six feet in height, long brown hair and eyes that looked like they had seen the worst and somehow the best of this world too, the other shorter, face shaped by rage and sorrow, choking back his tears. Between them, the two brothers carried three 5 gallon bottles filled to the brim with gasoline, and a sack of sorts, tied up with string, filled with a body and the last shred of hope either man possessed. Following them came a short, stout man wearing a long black coat, he seemed indifferent to all that was going on around him, as if he had wandered into this warped parade on the way to the supermarket. 

The march continued all the way to a small grassy clearing, deep within the forest, where the three men stopped, placing the bag on the ground, and without faltering, the brothers began to collect any dry wood they could find. The third man stood, watching it all unfold, his hand drifting over his hip flask, but promptly deciding it was not the most appropriate time. 

"So", he began, scratching at his beard. "This is it, boys" He spoke with an English accent, saying every word slowly like the slightest noise would set the brothers on edge. 

Neither man responded, continuing to pile what seemed to be half of a forest together. 

"You know," he continued, "If we just-"

"Crowley, please", the taller of the two men stopped what he was doing to stare him down. 

"Alright Moose," he said reproachfully, "Keep your hair on"

All was silent for a solid five minutes, the rhythmic thump of branches against the grass echoing through the quiet. Crowley, however, never being satisfied with any sound that wasn't his own voice, started to speak once more. 

"I never did understand why you liked that angel so much, you know." He looked over to where the shorter man stood, trying to induce some reaction from deep within him. "Was it the hair?" he wondered out loud, "or the filthy trench coat? He can't have washed it more than once..." His voice trailed off, for, in reality, there was nothing bad to say about the angel in the dirty coat. 

He watched the boys construct a small tower out of the gathered wood, making it large enough that the body would fit on with ease. When it was decided that the excessive amount of wood they had gathered would have to do, the branches were tied together and the sack containing the body was laid on top of the pile. 

The shorter brother was on the verge of breaking, his jaw clenched and square, knuckles white, eyes at the risk of overflowing with tears. 

The two exchanged distressed looks, for it was one thing to imagine how this would play out, another to actually do it. The taller man nodded, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. He picked a five gallon bottle off of the ground, dousing the body in gasoline, emptying the other two bottles onto the wood. Finally, he covered the body completely in salt. 

"Dean?" he turned to his brother, offering him the lighter. 

Dean closed his eyes, standing silent for a minute, and then grasped the lighter tightly. Upon lighting it, he hurled it at the pile of wood, biting his lip. All three men watched as the body ignited, the amber and gold flames dancing in and out of the branches, casting shadows behind the trees. 

"To the angel that never washed his bloody clothes", Crowley muttered as he unscrewed the cap of his hip flask, taking a large swig and pouring the rest onto the growing fire.

They all stood for a few moments, their eyes watching as the last remaining pieces of him continued to burn. 

"Cas", the taller brother began, his voice shaky and a little too loud. He cleared his throat. "I hope where you are right now, it's someplace good, buddy..... We'll never get anyone like you-"

"Quit talking like that Sammy" Dean interrupted, his voice breaking, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"What?"

"Like he's dead. Stop acting like he ain't comin' back"

"Dean, you saw him, we all saw him. There's no coming-"

"Don't you say it". He cried out. "Don't you dare say it, Sam. I'm gonna find a way to get him back if it's the last thing I do"

No one dared retaliate, Dean's words hung in the air, as obvious as the billowing smoke. When Sam and Crowley left in Dean's car, he didn't protest, didn't move, his eyes fixated on the embers that wafted through the air, standing beside the pile of wood, bone, and slowly dying flames, 

"I guess that trench coat don't burn easy", Dean remarked, the wind whistling in agreement.


	2. Crippling Doubt and a Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe, if you thought about who you like, more than what you like, things'd be a hell of a lot easier"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cry every time I go to write this, and I'm not even at the properly sad part yet!! Thank you so much to everyone who read the first part, hopefully my writing is going to get a hell of a lot better as this fic continues. Updates may be a bit all over the place from now until the end of May. Feel free to comment any criticism or ways I could improve :)

When the smoke danced towards the sky, and the fire had long died, Dean propped himself against a tree and sighed deeply.   
"Y'know Cas," he began, staring up at the night sky as if he expected his angel to come back any second now. "I never thought we'd end up here. I mean, we made it through everything; hell, heaven, demons, even Lucifer on our ass, and the one thing I didn't count on was you getting stabbed in the back by some low-life nobody angel. I swear, I'll catch that son of a bitch, Cas, and I'm gonna bring you back. That's a promise baby."  
Dean closed his eyes, waiting for a reply that would never come, a voice he could no longer hear.

He sat back, thinking of the first time they met, in that rundown barn in Illinois, just how far they'd come, both as individuals and together. He felt as if he was living in a dream, floating through. Like none of this was real, and he was going to wake up next to Castiel any second now, see his smile, look into his eyes, feel anything but the emptiness swallowing him right now. 

All the memories came flooding back now, and he found himself remembering things he didn't want to, all the way back to the summer of 2010.  
August was drawing to a close, everything seemed to be dying down, there hadn't been even a hint of a case in about a week. The brothers were sitting on the hood of Dean's treasured '67 Chevrolet Impala. As another beer was cracked open, Sam turned to Dean. 

"I see it, you know" He said, watching as Dean's eyes followed Castiel as he walked back towards Bobby's house. 

"What?" Dean's tone was something between confusion and strong objection, spitting the word out. 

"You can't tell me you weren't just checking Cas out there", he took another sip of his beer. 

"Okay, I wasn't checking Cas out there, happy?" Dean grew more impatient and anxious by the second, like a child who'd been caught drawing on the living room wall. 

"Come on Dean," Sam sounded tired now. "You think I don't notice, you watch him all the time, doing little things, hell, even doing nothing. When he says something, you look him right in the eyes, and when you guys talk, you smile, you smile with your eyes, and you look at him...you look at Cas like he's the only thing that matters."

Dean turned a deep shade of red, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. "You don't know what you're sayin', I don't...."

"How you look at him, it's how I used to look at Jess"

"Come on man, cut the crap. You and Jess, well...you loved her Sam. I mean, I can't....it wouldn't....I couldn't...."

Sam just pressed his lips together in a small smile. 

"No. You're jokin, right? Me and Cas?" his voice became defensive, his eyes shifting, unable to make eye contact. "I'm not...y'know...."

"Maybe, if you thought about who you like, more than what you like, things'd be a hell of a lot easier"

Dean thought about every time before this, Alex Blake in the 4th grade, Jack Hamilton in 7th, every guy, from jocks to nerds, that had ever made his heart skip a beat in the countless high schools he'd passed through. That was all it took to remember everything, the secrets, lying, bargaining with himself, pleading, praying, hoping these feelings would all just go away if he denied them enough. He was a freak, a failure, he didn't need this crap on top of it to make his life any more shit, he already had monsters beating the crap out of him every day, Dean didn't need people to do that too  
Of course, the more he ran from something, the quicker it tended to come back to bite him in the ass. 

"Dean?" Sam said, snapping Dean out of his trance-like state. 

"Mhm?" Dean shook his head, startled

"I said, do you want another beer?"

"Sure. Yeah" he replied breathlessly. "Yeah, why not."

He watched as Sam headed towards the house, and, waiting until Sam was well out of earshot, let out a deep sigh. Who was he even kidding? Cas could never, would never, want him like that. Someone like Cas deserved someone he could count on, he could trust, anyone but Dean. One day, Dean promised himself, he'd find some nice girl and forget about all this, he never had to act on anything he was feeling right now, just ignore it, get on with things, with the job, and it would all go away. 

In the weeks, and even the months that followed, it became apparent that there was no hiding or escaping his feelings for Cas. Any time the two talked, his chest felt light, and he was...happy? Excited? Horny? Whatever it was, there was no denying that talking to Cas made Dean feel good.   
It was only six months following his brief 'chick-flick moment' with Sam that he even thought about doing anything to move things along.

Dean had stared death in the face, looked down the barrel of a loaded gun, and faced unimaginable horrors every single day of his life, as far back as he could remember. But never, in all his years of living, had he ever been as fucking terrified as he was then, sitting in the impala with Cas, driving down a winding road, with only one thing on his mind. 

He cleared his throat, his heart practically jumping out of his chest from the rush of adrenaline. He took a deep breath and glanced at Castiel for a brief moment before speaking.

"Hey, Cas?" his voice was too loud, and he was shaking already, tapping his hands on the steering wheel. 

"Yes Dean?"

"Do you....." he couldn't hear anything over the thumping of his own blood, his hands clammy. "Do you think we should do this again? I mean, it's always good to have backup...on a case..y'know?"

"Yes." He stared out the window, not disinterested, simply lacking any basic social awareness. 

They drove in awkward silence for the next fifteen minutes, Dean not even daring to turn the radio on. After this time, he broke the silence, speaking again.

"Cas?" He mentally prepared himself for his next move, thinking of everything from each possible angle, analysing hypothetical events quicker than he ever had before. 

"Yes Dean?"

"Do you think...." he paused, for, even with all of his preparation, he was stumped. "Would you.....Do you want to maybe go out....to dinner! Out to dinner with me" the words came out in a flustered rush, and he immediately regretted them.

"I don't eat, Dean" he did not seem either overjoyed or disgusted with Dean's request, but confused. 

"I mean, we could....I don't know.....see a movie?....Or....y'know...whatever's cool with you?" he panicked, his heart now in his throat. 

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" his voice wavered.

"Are you asking me on..a date?" his tone remained neutral, and there was nothing to read from his face.

"Well.....I don't.....do you want me to ask you out?" this was not happening in any way like he had rehearsed. 

Cas paused to think for a moment. "Yes. I would."

He almost crashed the car at his reply. He swore his pulse stopped for a second. "Okay, Cas, do you wanna go on a date with me?" 

He smiled, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Yes," he beamed "honey"


	3. Is it cool if I hold your hand?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first date of many was not a typical night out by any standards, but then again, did Dean and Cas ever do anything normally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this one is really cute I'm super excited for people to read it!!!!!!

Michael's was a small, relatively underwhelming, family run diner located beside The Black Cat Motel just outside Mooresville, Alabama. It was not, by any means, extraordinary or significant to the lives of many.

It was known by the locals as a popular place for the youth of the area to hold their first dates, awkward affairs where neither party really talked, and too often someone contracted some form of food poisoning. Continuing this age-old tradition of the area, Dean and Cas decided to eat there for their first official 'night out'. 

In the week leading up to their big event, Dean was too preoccupied with hunting to even think about it during the day. However, when the lights went out and he was laying on the mouldy motel mattress, he found his mind whirring at the prospect of it.   
It wasn't as if this was unfamiliar territory for Dean, back before he spent what felt to be a lifetime in hell, he used to take girls out as if it was nothing. It came so naturally, a sly half-smile at just the right angle, a little wink here and an ass-slap there, they were putty in his hands. 

But this time was different. It wasn't just a random girl he'd pulled from a shady bar, or even a girl at all for that matter. It was Cas. Castiel. Angel of the Lord. The one who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. And he just didn't know how he should feel about it. 

On one hand, this was Everything he'd ever wanted, the only thing he'd dreamed about since 4th grade. But it was new. It was strange, maybe even wrong. 

Dean remembered every detail of that day. It was an overcast Friday evening, he was sitting on an excessively creaky bed, researching a standard house haunting about three miles from the Black Cat, trying to settle the butterflies rising in his stomach. 

"....so i couldn't find anything on Arthur Reynolds, but get this, all three vics have-" Sam stopped talking and stared at Dean. He sighed. "Hey!" He raised his voice. "Did you even hear me?" 

Dean was brought back from his own thoughts suddenly, falling to earth with a bang.   
"Yeah, yeah, they all saw that guy..." He felt like he was back at school, caught out once more for doodling on the paper by the snarky English teacher. 

Sam opened his mouth to speak again, whether it would be comforting words or a lecture on the seriousness of this mind-numbing case, Dean would never know, for at that moment, there came a knock at the door. The two exchanged looks, knowing it could only be one person, and silently agreed it had to be Dean to answer it. 

He heaved himself off of the bed, the springs squealing under his weight, and made his way to the room door.   
It took him a good ten seconds to undo the lock, as his hands shook so much.   
When he pulled open the door, he was greeted by a very enthusiastic Castiel, dressed in a black tuxedo with a badly-tied red bow, armed with garden daisies. 

He smiled, taking Dean's hand. "You look beautiful, honey" he said, in his best rehearsed, happy, yet respectful, tone. He let go of a very mortified Dean's hand, presenting him with the drooping daisies  
He stepped inside, turning to look at Sam. Cas grabbed his hand, giving him a firm handshake and a nod.   
"Don't worry sir," he said, maintaining his 'first date' voice. "I'll have him home by ten."   
Sam smiled, hardly able to contain his laughter. And nodded. 

"So" Cas grinned. "Shall we go on our date, Dean?" He offered him his arm. 

"sure" Dean said quietly. His voice shook, his face a deep scarlet. He linked his arm in with Cas'. 

The two walked down the road about 400m to arrive at Michael's, arms still intertwined.   
They waited at the door to be seated, and the second a waiter even glanced in their direction, Cas smiled.   
"Table for two, please". He looked proud to have remembered this small detail of dating. 

They were seated opposite one another in a rapidly peeling leather booth.   
"So what do you do for a living?" Cas began, smiling at Dean from behind the burger that he would never eat.   
"I...I uh...you know, Cas...." He wondered how Cas could have so devastatingly misinterpreted what this date would be, taking a handful of fries. "What's..this" he gestured to the suit uncertainly. 

"I watched twenty seven romance films this week." He said proudly, the way a high school student says they studied for the test. "Some of them were just awful, but very informative. I learnt a lot about dates this week." 

Dean nodded, concluding that too many of those must have been cliche rich guy and quirky girl love stories, and twenty seven of those would drive anyone insane.   
They talked together for a while, until the food went cold and there was nothing left for Dean to drink. They were alone in the restaurant, except for the two bored waiters and an even more unamused cook. 

When they came out, it was dark, and Cas once more took Dean's arm in his, escorting him back to the hotel room.   
"I had a really good time today, honey." Cas smiled. "I hope I can see you again. On another date"   
"Yeah..." Dean smiled bashfully, wringing his free hand around his neck. "Me too, Cas" 

Cas turned to face Dean, releasing his arm, and leaned in, eyes closed.   
His lips met Dean's cheek, crashing like waves upon the shore. It was only a quick peck, lasting less than half a second, but to Dean that kiss lasted forever, and it was just the way he'd always imagined it would be.


	4. If a Tree Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One screaming man and a forest won't change much, but it's a damn good place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (publishing this on Sam's birthday cause he owns my ass lmao) I really should be studying but hey, this is way more fun. I hope you like this chapter, please comment some criticism or ways I could improve, I really appreciate it. :)

Alone in the woods, Dean smiled to himself at the thought of his overdressed angel sitting in the peeling leather booth. It saddened him to think that most of their conversation in the diner that night was lost to him, buried deep beneath endless, sometimes pointless information about whatever monster came his way. He wondered if maybe, if he'd just run away with Cas, left Sam, escaped from everything, would he recall every word the angel had said to him that night?  
This thought plagued him as he woke from his dreamlike trance, aware now that he was sitting on a freezing log in a clearing in a forest, not at home with Cas, watching slow, deep breaths fall from his lips like every apology he could never make to Castiel.

A sigh as he thought; 'I'm sorry I never listened to you'  
His lungs filled once more. 'I'm sorry I couldn't make you happy'  
A final exhale. 'I'm sorry I couldn't save you'  
These silent regrets hung for a second, until that breath was no longer visible, disappearing forever.

Dean stood up, slamming his feet to the ground. He looked up to the sky, glaring at the full moon, furious that this universe that he stared at now, this crappy, bleak universe that wanted nothing more than to see him dead, or suffering, this terrible, ungodly, miserable place, took his angel away.  
"Do you think this is funny" he yelled to the stars, arms outstretched, an unheard plea. "Are you happy?" the galaxy above him paid no heed to the rage of one small, once significant man.

"I need you, Cas" his eyes filled with tears of rage, his fists now shaking. "Dammit Cas I love you" there was nothing he could build anymore with his angel, so, in a fit of rage, Dean sought out to destroy. Branches were ripped from nearby trees, dust kicked into clouds to rival those in his own mind, stones flung far into the darkness of the woods. He yelled until his voice was hoarse, every curse he knew, every bad thing he could think of, hurling insults blindly at the sky in the hope that someone would finally listen.  
It was followed by bargaining, praying, praying to every angel he knew of, and then anyone that was left. In a final desperate attempt, he prayed to Cas, or rather, to something he wished would be Cas. It wasn't the same. There was no feeling left, it wasn't an exchange between two people, a sense that someone could acknowledge his longing, it was like screaming out to a world with no one else in it, almost as if there had never been a Castiel to begin with.

If a man breaks down in a forest and there is no god left to hear him, does he really make a sound?

Does it even matter?

He leaned with his back against a tree, and slid down until he sat on the forest floor once again.

His hands shook, his heart heavy. He knew, in a matter of hours, he would have to leave this clearing, abandon the last memory he'd have of Cas. And eventually, Dean realised that that was all Cas could develop into from now. A memory. Something he'll look upon fondly, if a little sadly, as if he was never real.  
Dean never felt he could face this, his amazing, vibrant, curious Cas reduced to a thought, signals in his brain. If he was lucky, a feeling. And in years to come, maybe there wouldn't even be a feeling, or an image, his angel will be replaced by other stories, stories his stupid, selfish brain would deem greater than these last few years.

Dean could see his future now. There would be no apple pie, retired life for him. Only years of senseless, bitter violence, years he knew he would waste away with alcohol to rival his father's days after the death of his mother. Years in which he would search for something, any shred of hope that his angel was still out there, more lonely nights of praying, crying, begging. Until something got him just the way it got Cas.  
It was of great contrast to the way he thought he'd live, hanging up the leather jacket at 60 or so, maybe becoming a guide for younger, more capable hunters. Just him and his brother and his angel, left to spend their days doing whatever the hell old people do, maybe baking and gardening. And when his time would come, he'd accept it, surrounded by Sam and Cas and maybe even some kids, he'd pass away quietly, no fighting, no blood, just everyone he cared about sitting beside him. After he took his final breath, he'd wake in heaven, and he could spend forever with Cas by his side.

He mourned the loss of a future he could never have, of potential memories that were only ever a fantasy now.  
He was pulled back from his own sorrow by a faint buzzing in his pocket, followed by ringing. He pulled out his phone, letting out a deep groan as 'Sam' flashed on his screen, Dean allowed the tune to play itself out, too heartbroken to speak.

"Dean?" Sam's voice spoke in an urgent tone. "where are you?" he paused for a moment. "I'm going to where we" Sam cleared his throat. "meet me in the woods. I'll be there."

The message ended, and Dean shook his head and laid it in his hands, waiting for Sam to arrive, just for clarity that the world hadn't ended simply because his own universe was falling apart around him.

He stayed like that for God knows how long, staring into the darkness as it gradually became lighter and lighter.  
"Dean". He turned his head towards the voice, seeing his brother running towards him.  
"I've been calling you for hours, man, are you....do you wanna talk about it?"  
"No" it came out harsh, and cold, sharper than Dean had intended, but it felt good to convey his anger onto something that would actually react. Sam took him by surprise by simply shooting him a sad, almost pitiful smile, averting his eyes to the ground.

When they reached the car, Dean stood for a moment, pausing to run his hands along the driver's door of the '69 black Chevrolet impala. There would never again be a conversation within these four doors between him and Cas, no more karaoke sessions on the way home from a hunt, no more late night fast food runs when Dean couldn't sleep and Cas just didn't.  
He got in, resting his hands on the steering wheel, pushing the gas pedal as hard as he could, until all he could concentrate on was the whirring of the tires against the road.

"Are you sure you're good to drive, man?" Sam asked slowly, like a lion tamer approaching the beast at a circus.  
"I'm fine" he snapped, eyes staring only at the road. He didn't even want to use his mirrors in case he thought he may catch a ghost of Cas' memory hidden in the back seat where he often sat.

They drove in silence until they reached the bunker, pulling up abruptly, Dean slamming the car door as he got out. He headed straight for his room, ignoring Sam's pained, maybe even confused looks.

He pulled apart his desk to find it, tore the room down, checked every jean and coat pocket until he finally found it. A small wooden box, closed with a tiny gold latch. Dean opened it, gazing sadly at the little gold band that lay on top on the white cushioning in the box. 

He picked it up, reading aloud to himself the inscription on the inside of the band

_You were the one thing I got right_

And he sat there all night, on the floor of the bedroom, wishing he'd just proposed to Cas today like he was supposed to. 

It was supposed to be a fairytale, they were supposed to grow old together, have a life, goddamn this wasn't the way to go. 

But why would the presence of one angel change the fact that Dean did not, and would never, deserve a happy ending? 


End file.
